Daily Prompt: Instinct

via Daily Prompt: Instinct

She crouched, her eyes watching his every move, blocking out all unnecessary distractions. He, unaware of the hunteress in his wake, was immersed in enjoying the dewy grass of the morning. She watched and waited, soon, she knew, he would come closer. The patience of her race calmed her blood, eased her heart into an easy rhythm. She was a huntress, born to prey. He was young, and full of the life she so desparately craved. And it was time.

He wandered closer, chasing a butterfly that had the audacity to fly into his face. She slowly eased into position, ready to pounce, ready to take down the offensive creature. He bounded closer and closer. Now.

In one fluid motion she was on him, pinning down his pointless limbs. He was startled, but the shock wore off soon and the instinct to survive arose. She wrestled him down with difficulty. Oh how she hated this form. Just as she leaned in for the kill, she heard her name being called. A mumbled curse and she let her prey go. It was not time for her to have them. For one, she was yet to determine if they were indeed of her kind. “Once that was decided…” the smile that appeared on her sleek face was as beautiful, as it was cruel.


Daily Prompt: Scent

via Daily Prompt: Scent


The scent of life screaming for continuance. The scent of death waiting around the corner. The stinging scent of anger and helplessness. The scents of fears. And the scent of quiet dignified sorrow.

She could feel them as she entered. The scents from those scattered around the room. Various emotions in a confused jumble. The disbelief of the young. The resignation of the old. The confusion of the children. Poor things, trapped with no idea of what it all really meant. Told to mourn a person they barely knew.

The son came forward, grief and exhaustion lining his face, ironically highlighting the resemblance to the man in the casket. She murmured the words of condolence that came far too easily nowadays. He accepted them quitely, with elegance and true sorrow. She surprised them both by envoloping him a fierce hug. He froze for a second and then hugged her back with equal strength. “Thank you”. The soft voice conveyed everything necessary.

Sarah sat by the window, politely accepting the whispered words of sympathy. She was a clockwork doll someone had wound up. No emotions, not even those of love and empathy could not reach her now. She was too lost in her sorrow. The young woman beside her was more receptive. Fighting back tears, she greeted those who came by, thanking them gracefully.

The father had been proud of them, and striven to be the man they thought he was. There had been times he disappointed them, times they disappointed him, but it had never mattered for long. It had been a good life. Long and fulfilling. She had no doubt he had gone down fighting, but she knew he would have with no regrets. Or atleast not too many. He had loved to live after all.

She looked at him lying there. It wasn’t true at all. A person does not look like they are just asleep. They look… wrong. Empty. She smiled softy. “Am I getting wistful in my old age Ray?”

She still remembered those days long ago when she first met him. A brat among brats. A boy growing into a man, who felt and thought as deeply as she did. She had been star struck, unable to really tell him what she felt. It hadn’t mattered. They formed a friendship that withstood the test of time. He came to her when he needed an attentive ear, and over time she had learned to count on him too. They met rarely, -the family barely knew her, and yet he had always just been a phone call away.

Untill now.

Suddenly it hit her. All this time, since she first heard of the illness, during the hour she spent with him the day before, when the news reached her yesterday, in all this time the situation had felt unreal. Distant. And now it finally reached her.

He would never complain to her again.

He would never again be there with the chocolate cake when she needed it.

He would never laugh and tease her again.

He would never be Ray again.

She could not stop the tears.

They rolled down one by one, her sobs slowly becoming more pronounced.

She really should stop. This was not the way to behave.

“I can’t stop.”

It was Sarah who came. She softly pulled her in, letting her cry out her disbelief and grief. Sophie clung to her like a baby and bawled. Not for him, but for those he left behind. For this strong woman who was now so alone. For the daughter who lost her knight. For the son who lost his best friend. For herself.

They all cried, not for the man who lay at peace, but for themselves.

The scent of loss filled the room.

The scent of pain.


Do not go gentle into that good night:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas

A little bit of Philosophy melded with Science

So today, I don’t want to write a story. I want to write a few thoughts of mine starting with a quote that I love.

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.”

I heard this quote from my father, who is a philosophy professor, and immediately fell in love with the idea. When I did some research, I found it was said by a pre-Socratic philosopher, Heraclitus. On goodreads.com, I found a short description of the man’s philosophy. According to the author, Heraclitus characterised all existing entities by pairs of contrary properties, where no entity may ever occupy a single state at a time.

Now I find it fascinating that a philosopher from circa 500 B.C., would say what is now one of the fundamentals of quantum science. Speaking from a physical point of view, even when we believe we are still, the Earth is revolving and rotating around the Sun. Our entire solar system is revolving along with the Milky Way. Our galaxy itself is hurtling through the cosmos. On a smaller level, the atoms that make up our being are constantly in motion, there is constant exchange of energy and sub atomic particles occurring.  Indeed, if we reached a state where they did not move, we would cease to exist.

The one constant of this universe is that nothing is constant. The universe is programmed for change. A never changing system cannot exist, as far as we know. A moment when the cosmic is absolutely still, what would that be like?

Technically speaking I suppose all energy would have to be converted to mass, for without energy, there can be no advancement. And yet something inside me rebels at the possibility. Perhaps a world devoid of energy is impossible. The way perfect vaccum cannot be manufactured. You can come close. So very very close, but in end it will never be a complete void. The space demands to be filled. It draws it whatever it can in an attempt to be filled. A bit like human beings’ inherent longing for fulfillment, I suppose.

So an idea that came to me is, the universe’s constant state of orderly chaos is also a deep seated instinct of sorts. A need for action. A need for evolution. Perhaps this universe is not so different from the soul. Perhaps it too is trying to attain perfection.

According to ancient Hindu philosophy, each soul is searching for Moksha. Moksha translates literally to release. It refers to the release of the soul from the cycle of rebirth, through the understanding of the Truth. It stands for the release of the soul from the concept of selfhood. The I is gone, to be replaced with a sense of oneness with the divine consciousness. This idea is one that is recurrent in various other philosophies.

A part of me cannot help but wonder if this realisation of the Truth, this enlightened state, is nothing but a state of absolute stillness. A motionless, timeless state, which will once again erupt into varied consciousness. We were all One before the Big Bang occurred, perhaps we are just trying to cone back together. Perhaps there is a subconscious deep underneath, tugging at us, willing to be whole again. To be at peace again. Why the cycle started, or how it will end, I do not know. But the idea of completion and perfection draws me in.

This post is just my rambling. I apologize if there are any mistakes in the facts, and once again, this is just a possible image of the universe that came to me. Sorry for the long confused post. Hope some of it sets you to thinking! I’ll be glad to hear other ideas and interpretations! 🙂




She had always hated the word. Retreat. Such a shameful word. Bearable when it was temporary, a necessary break before the win, but retreating before an enemy because you cannot win, that wasa truly shameful loss. Coming from a long line of samurai, her Bushido was as rigid as it was ancient. To her, defeat in any sphere of life was an insult to her being. She had lived her life by the code, following it even in midst of rapidly changing eras. Yet here she was, defeated by the enemy no one could stand against. And so, finally, she had decided to come here. To this place, known simply as The Retreat.

It was a nice place. Beautiful, serene, peaceful. If only the name had not brought up those dormant feelings of defeat.

She knew it was irrational. Old age was not something to fight against. It was a natural process — proof of a life lived. She had aged gracefully, her soft white hair unmarked by dyes, her wrinkles unhindered by chemicals. All who saw her felt naught but respect for this titan. A woman who forged her way through a man’s world, and redefined the meaning of success. She was not egoistical, however she did feel a certain satisfaction in her life.

She had achieved respect, power, and money professionally and also been the wife of an incredible man, and the mother of two beautiful daughters. They had inherited her fire and she knew the empire she built would be safe in their hands. They loved her, and would gladly have taken care of her. Or she could just have stayed in her own house, there were plenty of people to ensure her comfort. And yet she decided to come here. To this place, because she believed it was time to leave behind that world. Standing here, she did not doubt her decision, even though a vague reluctantance slowed her steps.

She smiled reassuringly at her daughters. Both had wanted to ensure their mother would be safe and happy in this self inflicted exile. They had made it clear that they were both very unhappy with her decision, and even now, standing at the doorstep of her new home, they couldn’t help voicing their concern.

“We don’t understand why you have to come here Ma. Why?”

How could she answer that, when she barely knew herself? All she knew was, this felt right. Despite her voice of reason telling her it was unnecessary, her other self, the one whose voice she had learned to trust, insisted that this was the right way. And so, here she was now, making her way to her new room, saying her goodbyes, and now finally, she was alone.

…to be continued.


via Daily Prompt: Echo

It had been the start of summer. The sun was warm but the sea breeze was cool. He had arrived the day before, and while waiting for the accomodations to be sorted, he had decided to go explore the island.

The first time he saw her, he was sure she was a goddess. The flowing curls, the soft dress that billowed in Mediterranean wind, her startled eyes as he entered the clearing, the posy of white flowers in her hands – the image was seared into him. A brand.

While he stood transfixed, she vanished into the olive thicket. He had tried to follow but she was gone. A call from the landlady forced him to rush back. Over the next week he tried to find the clearing near everyday, to no avail. In this foreign land, where history and lore entwined, he had been captured.

It was spring now. Soon it would a year since he first arrived. A year since he saw her.

He had settled into the friendly little community well. He helped with the olive picking. He celebrated Christmas for the first time in years. He learnt their dances. He sang their songs. He loved the peaceful beauty, the serene brilliant sea. The scent of salt in the air began to feel like home. Maybe this was the place…and yet, it wasn’t. Something wasn’t enough, just like everywhere else. But what was it…?

Finally spring arrived in a riot of colours. And the pots arranged on his balcony showed buds for the first time. And then one day he woke to a nostalgic scent. They had bloomed. Sweet white flowers. Bright orange centres.

They were her flowers.

They’d been in her hands. They had adorned her hair. Suddenly he could see her image clearer than ever.

It was at breakfast that he heard the name of the flower.


A name that recalled an old story. An old story of love and heartbreak. A story of gods and humans. And of a nymph caught in between.

He took a single flower and set for the woods. Today, he would find her. Today, he knew what to search for.

The sapphire ocean was turning red when he finally reached the clearing. It was a mass of white daffodils.


She sat in the centre, bent over pool, her sad eyes reflected perfectly in the clear water.

He walked to her, carefully avoiding the flowers.

She turned to him, staring wordlessly.

He sat by her side.

There they sat in silence, watching the sun set over the horizon. Surrounded by the narcissus.

There were no words.

Words had lost their meaning to her a long time ago.

They had failed her when she need them the most, and now she sat in silence, in her blissful curse.

He came everyday. And they watched the sun set everyday, immersed in the scent of narcissus. And then, as spring waned, he saw her wane. Her soul slowly slipping away with the flowers. He knew she would leave soon. But there was something he had to tell her.

That day, as the sun set, and they parted, he turned to her. The clearing lay between them, the last of the flowers tinged red in the light of the dying sun.

“I love you.” He called out.

She stopped.

A clear haunting voice came across the distance between them.

“I love you.” came Echo’s reply.


Spring ended.

The last of the narcissus withered away.

She had vanished again.

He sat in despair by the satin smooth pool, eirily undisturbed by the wind. So she was gone again.

The scent of the narcissus.

He turned.

There she stood, dressed all in red, her eyes dancing, a nervous smile on her lips. In her hand, she held a single narcissus.

As he kissed her, the flower fell, finally disturbing the calm of the pool. As the darkness closed over narcissus, Echo shed a single tear.

The story was finally complete.

They were finally home.



via Daily Prompt: Faded

He looked at her once beautiful face, now set in resignation, the lines around her eyes the only indication of all the laughter there had been in her life. But that was before. Before her husband sank to the bottom of the sea. Before her friends faded away, one by one. Before her children were drawn into their respective families, their love for her evident, yet useless. Before the laughter vanished – for who can laugh alone?

Nowadays, even while thinking of the happy times, while going through the old faded albums, she couldn’t quite grasp the feelings she had then. What did it feel like again – to laugh hysterically at 3 a.m. with your friends? What was that confused swirl of feeling she knew she had when he had first kissed her? The pain and unimaginable joy that accompanied each of her children as they arrived in the world. She could no longer remember them. she knew they had existed, but she could not feel. Before long, her face  had acquired the  passive expression of one who is finished with the world.

She was not unhappy. Quite the opposite. She had lived a satisfying life, had achieved all she had dreamt of, and now, she felt there was no meaning in continuing. That was all there was to it. But she was not the kind of woman who could just die. No. She would live, and see the world for as long as fate decreed. Like a fading photograph, she would exist, until the tides of time dragged her into its unfathomable depths, dragged her deep into the same darkness her love rested in.

He smiled.

Maybe it was time for them to meet.


Because I could not stop for Death

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At recess—in the ring—
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—’tis centuries— and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity—

-Emily Dickinson


The First

Hello to anyone reading!

First off, I’d need to tell you, I started this blog for my sake. This is going to be my daily (hopefully) writing practice.

Now, a little bit about myself. I’m studying physics, because I love this god forsaken subject, but mostly because I have this urge to know. Just know everything! As much as humanly possible in a lifetime. Not just about science or the universe, but about anything and everything. I love learning.

I also happen to love writing, and am one of those someday writer hopefuls. So this is basically my platform to refine my writing and ensure that I don’t lose touch with the language. Oh yeah! Technically speaking, English is not my mother tongue, however, I have been speaking it for as long as I remember, and I love the language and its intricacies. I love what a messy random language. I find it fascinating that it has words and phrases originating from every other language.

Well, that’s about it for now.

Hope I can stick to my promise to myself.